Page 5 of Artifacts

This got applause. “And Officer William’s elder brother is now part of the Special Operations Aviation Regiment,” Fuentes continued. “Who knows what that is?”

“Night Stalkers!” called the tattooed guy, punching the air, although Fuentes had probably been asking the high schoolers.

And my younger brother is now at Randolph AFB.Darrell wondered if Fuentes would add that too. If he did, Darrell missed it, because he’d tuned out again.

“Dazzle. Top brass alert.”

Darrell snapped to at his partner’s nickname for him and his warning that the captain was there. Sean stood by his side and Captain Miller opposite them, his hand outstretched and his body angled away, so the cameras could get a shot of him shaking hands with and congratulating his two officers.

“Honey!” Daniela, Sean’s girlfriend, rushed up as soon as Miller moved on, grabbing Sean’s hand. “You looked so good up there!”

“It’s the uniform.” Darrell gave the standard reply. “Hi, Dani.” He bent down to receive her kiss on the cheek and hoped her perfume, something heavy and floral, didn’t rub off on him.

Daniela prodded him. “Darrell, there’s no one special here for you? You know, it’s time you came out with me and Sean and one of my girlfriends again. Don’t you think he’d like Ava?” she asked Sean.

“What’s not to like?” Sean’s reply earned him a slap to his arm. “Darrell?”

That note to Sean’s voice, that seemed to make the question stretch, or deepen… Was it an invitation? Did Sean want Darrell to talk about why none of thechicasdid it for him, why he hadn’t been interested in Madison, the last friend Daniela had rustled up for him, and wouldn’t be into Ava or, in all probability, any girl Daniela or Sean produced? Darrell wished he could. Wished he could talk openly about his sexuality. The thought of telling his father brought a bitter scratch of a laugh to his throat.

“I have to call Ryan,” he invented. “He couldn’t make it.”

“Basic training, right.” Daniela nodded. San Antonio was called Military City USA for a reason. She, like everyone who’d grown up there, understood. “Bet he’s proud of his big brother, huh? Like Sean’s are of him?”

Darrell was lucky—the photographer from theSan Antonio Chronicleapproached Sean, or actually, Sean and Daniela, for a picture, and saved him answering. Getting into position to show off her best features took all Daniela’s attention, so Darrell slipped out of the room and around a corner, into a quieter spot, away from phones ringing, doors buzzing and keys jingling. He took out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, but didn’t get as far asRfor his brother Ryan. His thumb stopped on Mateo, the guy he’d been hooking up with.

They’d screwed quite a few times. Darrell frowned, trying to put a number on it.Woah. A lot.And why was he thinking of calling or texting him just for a chat? That wasn’t what Darrell did. Hook-ups were just that—they weren’t someone he met for lunch if he had a day off on the weekend, or went to the movies with, much less wished they were there at a work event like this. That wasn’t him, just as this vague, well,feeling, wasn’t him.

Mateo was just some guy he’d met at the gym, who he’d sounded out cagily over the weights and more openly in the locker room, and who’d jerked him off under the table in Cesar’s an hour later. Oh, Darrell wasn’t selfish. He’d made sure Mateo had gotten off, too, in the restroom, before they’d gone their separate ways. He’d been to the guy’s apartment twice since then, and Mateo to his, neither of them spending the night, although Mateo had been amenable. Darrell hadn’t.

Did he even like him? The guy was good-looking, sure, and their tastes and preferences were compatible. Darrell liked to top and Mateo to get fucked. Hard. But Darrell certainly didn’t care about him, for crap’s sake. Caring was a weakness. His upbringing had told him that. Hisfatherhad told him that.

Darrell straightened up, pushing his cell back into his pocket. “Sir,” he greeted the captain, coming the other way down the corridor, flanked by detectives and civilians.

“Williams,” some suit or other reminded Miller.

“Well done again.” There was no handshake this time as the captain swept past.

“What’s next for you after that?” asked a man with the group, making Darrell realize he was a reporter.

“The shooting range,” Darrell replied. “I need to practice.”

Those who’d heard chuckled, as though Darrell were making a joke, after they’d seen his performance on screen. But Darrell wasn’t making any kind of quip.

Five minutes later he was there, at the range, down in the basement, a place he could ignore any and everybody else. Where he was away from the smells of coffee, cleaning chemicals and the astringent traces of pepper spray that always seemed to linger in the station and could breathe in the scents of hot metal and thick oil.

Down here, the focus was on the Smith & Wesson 40 in his hand and the target up ahead, and the threeSs that were important in life—stance, speed and spread. Here there was no room for softness or needs or wishes, and no space at all for relationships. Ear protectors muting his hearing, Darrell let a sense of calm wash over him as he steadied his breathing in the cool, climate-controlled air and squeezed the trigger to take a shot.

Chapter Three

Arriving at work the next morning, Aldric ran a hand down the front of his white button-up. He had tried to get the wrinkles out of it the night before by hanging it in the bathroom when he’d taken a hot shower, but it hadn’t worked as well as he’d hoped.

His jeans were faded, although not holey, like most of his other pairs. Elliot had told him jeans were fine, but Aldric planned on buying something nicer—khakis at the very least—as soon as he could. Elliot was a classy man, and Aldric didn’t want to bring any tinge of the poverty he felt emanating from him to Elliot’s shop.

Poverty was the dirty secret no one ever wanted to talk about or acknowledge. It angered Aldric, but there was little he could do to change the world.

As he entered the shop, breathing deep of the wood and lacquer scents, Aldric noticed theHelp Wantedsign was still up. He made a mental note to ask Elliot about taking it down after Elliot finished speaking with the customer he was with. He waved at Elliot, who smiled back at him, then walked behind the counter and retrieved the inventory book. Elliot had told him to study it every chance he got, and since Aldric didn’t know what else he should be doing, now seemed a good time to start learning about the antiques. He polished his glasses on a tissue and got to work.

He had made it to the third page when the bells on the door chimed and an older, brown-haired man entered the shop. Elliot was still with the customer. Aldric set the inventory book down and tried to smile. “Welcome to Intrinsic Value, sir. How can I help you today?”

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